by Pat Warren
John Ryan was no one’s dummy, though the department had passed him over time and again for promotions. Terry’s call had been collect. It hadn’t taken a genius to find out from the phone company where the call originated. Pomeroy’s Country Store. She’d told him that that evening they were expecting a snowstorm and that Luke was anxious to get going because they had a two-hour drive ahead of them. That had to be Luke Tanner.
Terry had also mentioned that the cabin they were headed for was owned by the top Fed. From his visits to the station, he knew that was Chief Bob Jones. Using his police ID, John had called the Registrar of Deeds office in both California and Nevada, and finally tracked down the address of the Jones place that same day. But the last thing he would do would be to tell this punk anything he’d figured out. “What makes you think I do?”
Nick took a long swallow of bourbon. “Because you stopped pestering downtown for some action. Because you been lying low, making yourself generally unavailable.”
“I’ve been sick. Chest pains. I was in the hospital.” And this conversation wasn’t helping him a bit. As if to show he was speaking the truth, he removed a small tin from his shirt pocket, dug out a nitro, and stuck it under his tongue.
Everyone knew the guy had a heart condition. Personally, Nick couldn’t have cared less, but he didn’t want the old guy to keel over, not yet. He needed him for one last thing. “Well, if I was you, I’d find a way to contact your daughter and tell her about my offer. I know the Feds have probably told her they’d set her up, but my offer’s better. Comes with a lifetime guarantee of cash. Otherwise, if she don’t take it, well, I can’t guarantee nothing.” Nick drained his glass, watching the old man over the rim.
John Ryan was trembling, inside and out. Nick’s offer was about as good as his word, which stank. “You promised she wouldn’t be hurt.” He blinked his watery blue eyes, hoping he wouldn’t break down in front of this smarmy shit.
“You worry too much, Pop. Bad for your heart.” With a small, mean smile, Nick slid out of the booth. “I’ll be in touch, day after tomorrow. You better have good news for me.”
Nick waved to the bartender on the way out, his mind distracted. Ryan knew something. Nick could smell it. He’d put a man on him, maybe two. Better yet, he’d tail the guy himself.
The old man watched Nick Russo leave with a grimace on his face. If only he were thirty years younger, and well. He’d clean up the sidewalk with that creep. Gripping the edge of the wooden table, he closed his eyes on a pain that sliced through his chest.
He’d gambled and lost, thinking he could beat the system. He’d bought into a fool’s dream because he’d been a desperate man. It was already too late for him, but not for Theresa Anne, not for his young, beautiful daughter. There was only one thing more he could do for her.
Opening his eyes, he rose slowly and shuffled out of the bar.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Luke checked the heavy plastic flap covering the opening of the dog door’s metal frame, which he’d installed into the storage room’s outside door. It swung both ways easily and there was a metal plate that secured the opening when he wanted it locked. Rising, he gauged the size through squinting eyes. He’d had to cut a fairly large entrance since both German shepherds were full grown. Could a man squeeze through that opening? With difficulty, probably. Certainly a small woman could. But neither would risk it if there was a snarling dog or two on the inside.
He opened the door to the windowless room, gave two long whistles, then shut the door and waited. It wasn’t half a minute before first one, then the other German shepherd came barreling through, each giving a short, curious bark when they saw him. “Good job, Rogue. Atta boy, Duke.” He rubbed each large head in turn, scratching behind the ears, pleased at their intelligence.
Barney, the man who’d raised and trained the dogs, had said they were two of his best. That was what Luke had wanted. He watched as Rogue found the pan of drinking water and helped himself. Just then, a clump of snow fell from the slanted roof of the add-on storage room, the sound causing Duke to rumble low in his powerful chest. He rushed out the dog door with Rogue following close on his heels. Barking furiously, they roamed their new domain, warning anyone that they were on the prowl.
Satisfied, Luke walked into the kitchen. And was greeted by the silence he’d come to expect lately.
He hated it. There was a time when he’d thrived on silence, longed for it when he’d been out daily in the noisy world on assignment. But ever since Terry had shown him the difference between comfortable shared silences and tension-filled hours, he’d begun to hate the stressful quiet since their quarrel. He’d initiated it, knowing he had to rebuff her before they were so involved that they wouldn’t know where one began and the other left off. But that didn’t mean he enjoyed it.
Luke walked to the stove and poured himself a cup of lukewarm coffee. He was drinking way too much of the stuff, especially since he was no longer eating the terrific meals Terry used to cook. She’d cut back on cooking, and on smiling, on talking, on everything that had mattered to him. Funny how he hadn’t realized how much the little things she’d said and done had pleased him until she’d withdrawn them.
He took a sip and tasted bitterness, which had nothing to do with the state of the coffee. He’d dug a hole for himself that there was no climbing out of. The fact that he firmly believed he’d done the right thing didn’t make him feel one bit better.
The hard-to-swallow truth was that, after some middle-of-the-night soul searching, he’d come to believe that some of the things Terry had thrown at him that day had been right. He did find it hard to trust anyone. He was suspicious of everyone who seemed to care for him. He did feel that, based on past experience, most people would leave when circumstances suited them.
Maybe Terry Ryan was different. He’d learned to judge folks from the things they did rather than what they said. But he’d steeled his heart against believing too quickly in the good of others. More often than not, people let you down. That wasn’t cynicism talking, it was reality.
But Terry hadn’t. At least, not yet. And she’d made the unbelievable declaration that she loved him. Did she, or had she just romanticized this whole thing? A man and a woman, thrown together in dangerous circumstances, on the run, against all odds. It was the thing movies were made of. But the reality was, there were real bullets in his guns, and that fact had her scared silly.
Luke stared out at the falling snow unseeingly, remembering instead her white face when he’d said he’d blow away anyone who came near her. That was a reality Terry had trouble living with. Even later, when all this was behind them, could she live with the fact that that was what he was, a lawman, someone who felt undressed without a gun, a man always watchful, forever on guard? Growing up the way he had, Luke hadn’t had a problem adjusting to the life of a cop. But even though her father was a cop, Terry had come from such an opposite background—suburban peace and quiet, no threats, no violence, caring parents, a home filled with love and laughter.
Something he’d never known.
He drained the coffee and set the mug in the sink. Then she’d come along and given him a taste of that life. And he’d lapped it up like a desert walker finding a watering hole. Helping her in the kitchen and sharing the first real Thanksgiving dinner he’d ever truly enjoyed. Sitting by the fire and just talking, holding her close, sipping a glass of wine. Laughing with her in the snow, kissing her wet face. Lying in bed with her, her legs wrapped around him, the soft sounds she made when he joined with her. What man raised on scraps of affection could resist the banquet of warmth she’d showered on him?
Maybe he’d been more than a little wrong. Maybe he’d found the one person who could change his mind, change him. Maybe Terry could mend his shattered faith and make a believer of him. But was that what he really wanted? He’d bought his ranch so he’d have something of his own, and taken this job because he owed Jones. But what did he really want to do when this ended?
Would the ranch, raising horses, and having Terry in his life be enough to keep him happily homebound? Could he stay committed to one person, which was the only thing a woman like Terry would accept? Would she even have him, believe him, if he were to tell her he’d like to try? Would he be enough for her?
Turning from the window, Luke thrust his hands in his jeans pockets. Too damn many questions and too few answers. Through the archway, he could see Terry curled up in a corner of the couch, reading a book. Or was she merely pretending to read, for he knew that she was as miserable as he? No amount of feigning fatigue or simulated absorption in a book could fool him. All the signs he himself possessed—nervousness, short temper, that haunted look—were present in her.
Yet he couldn’t react to her silence, couldn’t retract what he’d said. He’d have to play this through in order to keep her safe, to lessen the hurt, until he could figure things out. It would be wrong to start up again only to bow out later. Somehow, from somewhere, he’d have to find the answer.
The ringing of the phone was a welcome interruption of his troubled thoughts. Luke walked to the end table and picked it up, noticing that Terry didn’t even glance over. Must be a hell of a book. “Yes?”
“I’ve got some good news and some bad news,” Jones began without preamble.
“Lay it on me,” Luke answered.
“Two pieces of good news. We have a court date, a week from tomorrow.”
“Great. What else?”
“The word on the street is that Nick Russo’s called home his men who were looking for Terry and you.”
Luke frowned. “Something must have happened.”
“You’re right. Nick’s cagey as a fox. We have two guys on him, yet he manages to lose them regularly and often. Damn frustrating. However, we learned something today, but you aren’t going to like it.”
“Say it.”
“We’ve kept a check on his bank accounts. He used an ATM in Reno about an hour ago.”
“Great. I don’t suppose he’s there to try his luck at the tables?”
“Damned if I know.”
“Are you sure it was him?”
“Pictures don’t lie. The camera got him withdrawing two hundred.”
What in the hell was going on? “We’ve got a leak somewhere.”
“That’s my guess, too.”
“Do you have a tap on Nick’s phone line?”
“Can’t get authorization. No just cause.”
“Shit!” Luke’s mind raced, considering possibilities. “This house. Is it listed in public records in your name?”
In Phoenix, Bob rubbed at a headache that had been throbbing awhile. “In my wife’s name. Jones is pretty common.”
“Yeah, right.” Luke rubbed at the back of his neck. Too late to run, and where would they go anyhow?
“You want me to send backup?”
“We don’t know anything for sure, right now. Nick may not find the place, or even be in the area to try.” More agents on the scene would probably just get in the way. He could always call if it became necessary. “Let’s hold off for now. I’ve got the dogs and we’ve got snow a foot high and still falling. We’ve got sturdy locks, two guns, and plenty of ammo.” Behind him on the couch, he heard Terry’s gasp and turned to see her wide-eyed stare. “I’ll phone if I need anything,” he said into the phone, wishing he’d taken the call in the bedroom.
“You do that. How’s Terry holding up?” Jones wondered if they’d discussed what he’d said to both of them.
“As well as can be expected. Talk with you later.” He hung up and walked to the couch, sitting down beside her.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice unsteady.
He told her all of it. She had a right to know.
A court date at last. But the other news diminished her pleasure. “Nick Russo’s in Reno and he could be headed here?”
“I didn’t say that.” Although that’s exactly what Luke thought. “He’s in Reno, that much we know. But, assuming he’s somehow discovered we’re up this way, is he smart enough to look up the records of homes in this area, recognize the name on this one, and tie it to Bob? Jones is a pretty common name.”
Terry gripped her hands together tightly. “How in the world did he learn we were in this area? What leak were you talking about?”
“We don’t know how he found out, and he may not have. He may be coming up this way on a hunch, having searched all of southern California. Or he may be there just to gamble. He’s a regular in Vegas.”
She knew that probably wasn’t so and she thought that Luke did, too. Too upset to sit, she got to her feet and walked to the fireplace. “You’re just saying that to pacify me. Don’t patronize me, Luke.”
He stood and moved to her. “I told you everything I know. The rest is just conjecture.”
“Is it?”
She’d turned as pale as the white sweater she wore. “Yes.” Setting aside their recent differences, he pulled her to him, pressing her head to his chest, rubbing her back. “I’ll take care of you, I promise.”
There it was again, the pleasure of being in his arms. But she’d have to do without it soon enough. She’d better not get used to his touch again. She pulled back. “I… I need to be alone.” Moving around him, she walked to the bedroom they’d once shared and closed the door.
Luke wanted to throw something, hit something, anything to get rid of the rage inside him. Rage at Nick Russo, the system, his own inadequacies. If it was the last thing he did, he’d put that bastard behind bars for all the torment he and his brother had put Terry through.
Grabbing his jacket, he went outside to chop more wood.
In her room, curled up on the bed, Terry felt renewed guilt churn in her system like undigested food. Had Nick Russo somehow gotten to her father? Had her call to Dad been the thing that would allow that gangster to find them? Had he hurt her father, made him talk? She was certain that John Ryan wouldn’t have exposed her to harm any other way.
She put her hand to her mouth to keep from crying out. If she told Luke about her call, he’d be furious, and it would accomplish nothing. The court date was close at hand. She’d just ride it out. The cabin was really isolated. Perhaps Nick Russo wouldn’t be able to locate them. Please, God, don’t let that man find us.
It was the middle of the night and he couldn’t sleep. Had he heard something or had it been his imagination? Luke pulled on his jeans and slipped his feet into the fleece mocassins. As always, he jammed the .38 into his waistband. He heard the furnace go on and left his room, wandering along the hall. Only ashes smoldered in the fireplace, but the woodsy smell lingered. The cabin creaked and moaned and a winter wind whistled through the eaves.
Terry’s door was ajar, something he’d insisted upon, despite their separate room arrangements. He glanced in and saw she was finally asleep. He’d heard her restless turnings long after she’d switched off the lamp, leaving only a small night-light burning.
In the dark in the kitchen, he opened the blinds. Moonlight flooded the yard, reflecting on the stark white snow. One of the dogs was silently patrolling the yard. He could hear the other one snuffling around in the storage room on the other side of the folding door. Nothing seemed amiss, yet he was edgy with nerves.
It was Jones’s call, Luke decided as he closed the blinds. Knowing that Nick Russo was probably in Reno tonight. When had he arrived and why was it that two federal agents hadn’t been able to track him leaving Phoenix? Had he driven or flown? Had he already had someone look up the county records for deed ownership in California, or was he going to do that tomorrow? Was Reno as the city with a major airport closest to the cabin a lucky guess or information he’d gotten from a paid snitch?
Luke walked to the front window and looked out. Nothing and no one stirring. His imagination on overtime. He walked back down the hallway, pausing at Terry’s door. But a peek wasn’t enough, so he stepped inside and stood looking down at her. She was on her b
ack, one hand curled on the pillow next to her, her face turned toward him. She looked young, troubled, vulnerable.
She’d shifted the covers down to where they lay bunched at her waist. It was then that he noticed that she was wearing his blue denim shirt, the sleeves rolled up on her pale arms. He’d been wondering what had happened to that shirt since he didn’t have a lot of clothes with him. She had a flannel gown, but she preferred this. So she wasn’t over him, not really.
And he was far from over her. Despite all his fine speeches to her and to himself, he wanted this woman like he’d wanted no other. Lightly, he trailed the backs of his fingers down one shoulder, over the rise of her breast, moving lower. She shivered, making a soft sound in her throat, then shifted slightly in her sleep.
Luke knew every man had to pay for his sins, but God help him, he couldn’t stay away from her a moment longer. He would pay, gladly, for one more night with her. Quietly, he placed his gun on the nightstand, stepped out of his mocassins, and folded back the feather bed. Watching her face, he skimmed his hand up the smooth skin of her inner thigh. In seconds, he inched higher, touching her, stroking her.
Terry went from sleepy to stimulated in an instant, her eyes flying open, wide with shock, then suffused with swift desire as she made a sound, half protest, half plea.
“Shhh, honey, don’t fight me, please,” he whispered as he eased onto the mattress alongside her. “I need you so much.”
And, oh God, how she needed him, Terry thought as she went boneless under his clever fingers that knew her so well. She couldn’t fight him, couldn’t move, couldn’t think as his assault on her senses drove her up, drove her crazy. When the explosion came, she felt herself shatter into a million pieces, clinging to him for support. And he was there, holding her, murmuring to her, kissing her.
Falling back onto the pillow, she felt limp, exhausted, yet wonderfully alive. She wanted more, wanted him. She wouldn’t think about the problems between them, the madman chasing them, the cloudy future awaiting them. There was only now, this minute, this man who could make her forget, if only for a little while, all the evil and uncertainties in the world. “I need you, too,” she confessed.
